Sucker Punch
by unavoidable-k
Summary: Eight finds himself contemplating the past and his relationship with the others. Six is there to progressively make things worse...or better? 6x8 Request


It was raining heavily. Fat droplets of water, equivalent in size to a stitchpunks optic, battered down upon the sunken roof of the library. Rain hadn't come for so long, so it was still a bit of a foreign concept to them. It was proving to be difficult to handle; the roof of the library was nowhere near as sturdy as it once was. Leaks sprouted everywhere and the twins were frantic in their attempts to keep their books dry.

"This is requiring more effort than it's worth." One muttered, dryly. He was in no way happy in having to get his hands wet. He would've offhandedly commented about how relocating would've been easier than attempting to set this mess right, but he knew that it would've only been met with glares and criticisms.

Two patted his shoulder sympathetically. "What a burden you carry, One." He said, softly. One merely grunted and moved on to another part of the library. Right now, they were relying on makeshift containers to keep the water away from anything important. Nine was racking his brain for any ideas of how to make use of the excess water.

"We could make a water-heated radiator." He suggested. It seemed like a plausible idea, especially for Two, and he seemed impressed that Nine thought of it. "I can manage that. It would help greatly during the winter seasons, but I'll need some materials. The weather doesn't seem great at the moment, especially not to go foraging in." He mumbled. Nine considered this.

"It's not too bad. The rain's letting up a bit now. We might be able to grab something before it becomes heavy." He said, thoughtfully. Two was thankful One wasn't in the vicinity; the idea would've been shot down before the words had even escaped his mouth. Well, what he didn't know couldn't hurt him, after all.

"You'd best gear up for it then. Don't go too far, go with a group and the moment it gets any heavier than this…" He gesturing to the spitting rain outside, "…get back as soon as possible." He said sternly. Nine stifled a laugh, "You sound like One." Two smiled in amusement. "I'm merely concerned for your safety."

* * *

So Nine set out, along with Seven and Five, which was standard, and the twins, oddly enough. The twins were stressed out as it was, so Seven thought distracting them for an hour or so would improve their mood. They reluctantly left their books in the care of Six and Eight, threatening death if any harm were to befall them.

Eight flopped down on a rather thick book and exhaled deeply. One had instructed him to keep an eye on the containers in the hall. Replace them if they were to overflow and place containers under any newly-sprung leaks. It was easy enough, even for him, but the intense, almost unblinking gaze of Six was rather unnerving.

"What?" He muttered, lowly.

He expected Six to flinch or recoil but, to his surprise, he stood firm. He didn't seem to really know what to say; he sat down silently beside Eight. Now it was Eight's turn to flinch. He wasn't entirely okay with this situation.

Eight couldn't deny he had bullied Six more than anybody else back before the machines defeat. He was rather ashamed to think about it; it only led to cringe and bad feelings. Two had offhandedly mentioned that 'bullies generally bully other people because they're insecure about themselves'. Eight would immediately deny it, naturally, but he found himself thinking a little more on his words.

His bullying was his way of expressing dominance, much like One, and it was probably more reminiscent of One's behaviour considering One was the only role model Eight actually had. He was the first to accept the guard into their group; he gave him a job. A place in the group. His role held importance.

He supposed his bullying was a way of expressing authority over Six. He was higher than Six in the hierarchy, not too high, but higher than Six, or at least, that's how he felt anyway. One expressed his authority over the group with his restricting rules and condescending tones. Eight was physically powerful, rather than verbally. He looked intimidating, he acted intimidating, but he hadn't got such a way with words that One had. He could reduce a man to a pathetic, snivelling mess using only words, something with Eight both admired and feared.

That's why he was surprised upon Nine's arrival. Nine didn't back down like Five and Six did. He stood firm; he reminded him of Seven in that way. (Eight secretly held Seven in high regards, but he'd never admit that to One.) The existence of the pair of stitchpunks went to show that One wasn't always all powerful and all knowing. In fact, when you got down to it, One and Eight were probably on the same level.

As for Six, Eight wasn't sure was his deal was. Eight had a set place in the group. He was the guard. It wasn't exactly a glamorous job, but it was simple and needed doing. Six had a place, but at the same time, he didn't. He didn't have a set job. He wasn't a guard, or an inventor, or a leader. He supposed he was the 'crazy' one, but the fact that Six had the lack of a job in the group, yet he managed to be of more help than Eight could've ever been, really annoyed him. It was kind of like when a person works hard to achieve something, is faced with a person who could achieve such a thing using talents alone.

He felt…under-appreciated. He supposed that was his own fault; he treated people badly and had never really redeemed himself. One had managed to redeem himself after jumping between Nine and the machine, ultimately sacrificing his own life. Eight? Eight had been tied up and was rendered incapable by the Seamstress, only to meet his doom with the machine. He supposed that if he wasn't there, Seven would've died before Nine had reached the factory. His death occupied the machines time while Nine devised a plan, which ultimately saved Seven's life.

Maybe it was wishful thinking.

Then there was Nine. Nine, the so called saviour, was like Six. Nine didn't have a place. Nine stormed in and ruined the order of things with his insatiable curiosity and knack of getting into trouble. He'd killed over half of them, yet he still managed to be the hero. People like him annoyed Eight to no end. It was only then that Eight realised that he was probably jealous, and that Two had a point.

He was insecure.

He was hardly the smartest in the group. In fact, he was probably the stupidest in the group. Eight often repeated this fact in his mind, bitterly. Yes, he was physically overwhelming, but there were things that strength alone could not achieve. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't think like the smarter guys. He relied on instinct and instinct alone. He couldn't devise a quick plan like Nine. He couldn't foresee the future like Six. He was virtually useless.

These thoughts had come barrelling into his head the moment Six sat down and he swore he was going to throw up. Six looked at him quizzically, somewhat concerned by the thin line that stretched across the guard's face.

"Are you okay?" The small visionary asked. Eight nodded silently, keeping his gaze straight ahead. Six stared at him for several moments, before placing a warped hand onto Eight's. Eight visibly flinched.

He remembered when their souls had erupted from the talisman; Six had took his hands and led him away. He didn't have any guilt or regrets then. He was dead. He might as well been happy his last few moments, but once he awoke again, it all came flooding back.

He also recalled Six's death, despite not being physically there. He could see the outside world through the machine's single, unblinking optic. He watched all of his…friends…die. He watched Six die and that might've been the closest he'd ever been to the artist. Nine was the only one to physically witness Six's death; Seven having turned away at the last second and One, keeping the twins back. He'd looked the artist straight in the eye and for a moment, he felt a pang of something.

Six looked strangely calm. He'd probably known from the beginning that he was going to die, but he'd seemed satisfied with the final words he'd imparted to Nine. Sure, given the chance, he'd prefer life over death, but he seemed ready for it. He was calm. He accepted it.

Unlike Eight, who had struggled out of fear, bound by the Seamstress's red string and forced into the hands of the machine. It was his own fault; he was magnet high. He was dead from the very beginning and even if he were to remain alive, what use would he be anyway?

Six was stronger that he was.

That was an undeniable fact.

* * *

He hadn't realised that Six had been staring at him in the eye for ten straight minutes. He looked up and offered a weak smile, but Six didn't look all that happy. He felt guilty, for a moment.

"You're not okay." Six stated, plainly. Eight couldn't deny it; he didn't say a word. The silence spread across the room, interrupted every so often by the sound of water drops.

Why was Six even here? Surely the artist knew better than to sit beside the guy who tormented him mercilessly for years. Then again, Six wasn't exactly the pinnacle of sanity. Eight found him interesting in that way. He had character; he was odd, he generally stood out and he was more than a little bit eccentric. Eight was…big.

"Why aren't you okay?" Six asked, again. Eight wasn't even sure he could put this dilemma into words. He'd never been a verbal character and, funnily enough, neither was Six. That seemed to be something they had in common, but for Six, it was a matter of not being able to articulate. As for Eight, he disliked talking. He never had anything smart or useful to say, so he preferred to stay quiet. That wasn't to say Eight didn't have trouble talking; between him, Six and the twins, they were probably the most verbally stunted of the group. He'd never really been given a chance to speak but he knew if he did, he'd mess up.

Even though Six and Eight shared similar problems, Eight couldn't help but feel massively inferior to the artist. He had talents, after all. He wasn't intelligent, per se, but he wasn't stupid. He had everything formed in his head and Eight was sure if Six was able to explain himself properly, he'd be incredibly smart. He was probably the most valuable of the group, hidden away behind verbal barriers.

The one thing that Eight liked to think they shared, was observance. Six was clearly oblivious to most things; his head was in the clouds more than it was down on earth, but Six was secretly observant. He wondered if Six was even doing it consciously. Thinking more on it now, it seemed more like Six knew from the beginning. He always knew before everybody else, in many situations. Maybe he wasn't as observant as Eight thought. Maybe he just knew. After all, like him, Six relied on pure instinct over intelligible thoughts.

Eight respected that.

"Why aren't you okay?" Six asked, once more. Eight had completely forgotten Six had asked him a question. He looked down at the curious artist, but his expression looked grim. He wanted to recoil. He wanted to get up and go somewhere else, but One told him to stay here. He had a job to do.

He gave a kind of guttural sigh, resting his head in his hands. Usually, his first instinct would be to grab the magnet on his back and let his problems wash away, but he couldn't do that. The whole reason he got killed and put everybody else in danger was because he was magnet high. He couldn't let that happen again.

"I don't know." He finally said. There was no point denying it, after all. Six probably knew what was wrong.

Upon that thought, he lifted his head.

"You know what's wrong. Why are you asking me?" He snapped. Six didn't flinch, but he looked displeased.

"In case I was wrong."

Eight wanted to punch him in the face. Six was oblivious to the feelings of others, more often than not, and had the audacity to voice his thoughts more frequently now. Back in the cathedral, he sat hunched over in the corner, muttering to himself because nobody would give him the time of day. Now he was being a bit more forward and Eight found himself feeling jealous again.

"Since when you are wrong?" Eight wanted to sneer, but his voice was too quiet to pull it off effectively. A prime example of why verbal retaliation was not his forte. Despite that, it seemed to hit Six quite hard and Eight immediately regretted it. If he did something wrong to Six, the whole group would probably turn against him. Even One.

"I'm wrong sometimes. You just don't know it." He said, softly. Again, this was probably down to Six not being to talk freely back in the cathedral. Now Eight felt even worse about jabbing him like that.

"Sorry." He muttered. Six seemed to shrug it off. "It's fine."

They remained in silence a bit longer.

"Am I wrong?"

"Huh?" Eight looked up again in confusion. Six was staring up at the dilapidated ceiling, his optics were kind of glassy. He was probably thinking deeply about something. When Eight responded, Six looked down again.

"Am I wrong? About how you're feeling?" He asked again. Eight paused, before shrugging lamely. "I don't know." He replied. Six sighed softly and Eight felt like he had let the world down.

"Why do you use that magnet?"

They had been sat in a silence that, over time, Eight had begun to adjust to. He looked over to Six and words failed him.

"I…don't anymore." He shot back, defensively. Six raised his hands defensively, before rubbing at his knuckles. "I know that. I just wanted to know why you used it." He said, quietly. Eight sighed; of course somebody would ask sooner or later. He'd prefer the latter, in all honesty.

"I…" he trailed. Why did he use the magnet? It was simple. It was an escape from reality for him. But why did he feel like escaping from reality? Why did he willingly give his mind over to the magnet? He'd never thought about it before. He'd always avoided the topic. Even when One interrogated him about it, he'd always wormed his way out of it. One had long since given up. Now the problem was staring him dead in the face in the form of an eccentric artist.

"I…"

Realisation punched him in the stomach.

"I was unhappy." He said.

Saying it out loud made it sound silly. People were unhappy all the time, it was a part of life, so why was he any different? Six raised an eyebrow. It seemed like too vague an answer for him. "You were unhappy, so you used the magnet." He reiterated. Eight sighed.

"Yeah. I was unhappy. All the time. Using the magnet once or twice every month or so ain't a bad thing, but I used it every day. I know unhappiness is like…a thing that you gotta deal with but…when it's every day of your life, it gets tedious." He said, slowly. He was thinking about every word that came out of his mouth, desperate not to mess it up. If he messed it up, maybe nobody would understand him.

Six seemed surprised. Did he really not know?

"You were unhappy?" He opened his mouth and Eight knew exactly what he was going to say.

'But you had so much fun bullying me.'

Eight felt like keeling over that second and Six knew that he knew. Six suddenly looked downcast, as he stared down into his lap. "I'm sorry…" He mumbled.

"Don't be." He said, gruffly. "You did nothing wrong." He swallowed thickly, before adding. "I should be sorry. I shouldn'ta done that stuff to you." He shrugged slightly, as if not knowing what else to say. Luckily enough, that seemed to be enough for Six. Eight wasn't sure if it was enough for him.

"Can I try it?"

Six suddenly sounded a bit lighter now. He was smiling shyly and indicating to the magnet on the guards back. Eight couldn't hide his alarm; he couldn't let Six do that! Six's mind was warped enough without the aid of the magnet. But his optics looked so bright, he wasn't sure he could say no.

He looked around, checking for any sign of One, before pulling it off his back and thrusting it into Six's hands. Six seemed somewhat unsure of what to do, so Eight made a gesture that signal for him to put it above his head. Six nodded and slowly raised it above his head.

Eight almost laughed. Six's optics went fuzzy and he gave a small gasp, before bursting out into fits of giggles. A big smile stretched out across his face and Eight swore his mechanical heart melted. It seemed watching Six have fun with the magnet was bringing him just as much joy as if he was using the magnet himself.

"Don't go overboard." He warned, with a smile. Six nodded, but Eight knew he wasn't paying attention. He vowed to nab it off him when he'd had enough. For now, he'd let the artist have fun.

"What do you see?" He asked, smirking. Six seemed to be rendered utterly incapable of forming a coherent sentence which, come to think of it, wasn't exactly uncommon.

"I can see. Me. I see me. Heheheh~" He giggled and Eight thought it was rather sweet. "And you." He added, suddenly.

"Me? What am I doing?" He asked, stifling a laugh at the smaller stitchpunks wide smile. "You're, you're…you're…" He trailed.

"You're happy."

The gut punching ghost had returned for a second round.

"I'm what?" He said, his voice barely above a whisper. Six took the magnet down from above his head; the fuzziness dissipated from his optics. He looked up, a little sullen. "You were happy and smiling." He looked down at the magnet. "Now I see why you use this. If I spend all day with the magnet, I can spend the whole day with a happy version of you. Then, when I come back to this world, I see you're all sad and I hate it. I don't wanna see that."

He sounded like he was about to go off on a childish rant, but he stopped short. He looked up at Eight with wide optics.

"I like happy you. I never got to see it back then, until we met after Nine freed us. I liked that. You were happy." He said, slowly. Eight had no words whatsoever.

"You aren't a bad person." Six mumbled. "You're just a little misunderstood. You act bad but when you aren't unhappy, you act good. You can't talk like me and you feel bad about a lot of things but you can't tell people. I understand that." He said, with a small smile. Eight didn't doubt he understood, but that didn't help when Eight couldn't even understand who he was.

"I never hated you for anything." He spoke again. "You're kind of like One. You act the same, but deep down, One has his problems as well. But he has Two there to help him." Eight had to admit, he was rather envious of the older stitchpunks. "But that's okay," Six added brightly.

"I can be there for you!" He said, with a smile, before dropping the magnet on the floor. Eight really did think he was about to be sick, but he smiled anyway. "You don't gotta go and do that." He said, softly, but Six shook his head adamantly.

"Yeah I do."

"No ya don't."

"Yeah I do!"

"No ya don't!"

"The containers are overfilling."

"Wha-? Oh, jeez!"

* * *

Somebody requested 6x8 with magnet and before I realised it, it got deep. I tried to save it ;-; but here's a little insight into what I think is Eight's personality. I think Eight needs a lil more love uvu specifically, from Six.


End file.
